My Little Soldier
by D1ona30
Summary: Some things are easy and some things are hard. How they got together is a bit of both. Kidlock, alternate universe
1. Chapter 1

**MY LITTLE SOLDIER**

**Some things are easy and some things are hard. How they got together is a bit of both.**

**CHAPTER 1:**

Along time ago and very far away was a little boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. He loved his mother and father and his, somewhat annoying, older sister. He liked to run around with sticks pretending they were guns. "Pew, Pew" he would say aiming his little stick gun at a tree, in his mind it was an enemy soldier.

The long grass brushed against his shins as he ran through the little patch of forest near the path close to his home, tripping over a stump and dirtying up his knees with brown and green smudges. Birds scattered up from the branches, squawking loudly. Lizards, bugs, mice and one very large white rabbit scurried off deep into the woods. He hadn't thought he had made much noise, but to a boy of seven not much noise is actually quite a lot.

He stood up not caring to brush away the dirt and twigs, and began running off after the rabbit, forgetting all about the imaginary battle but still clutching his stick gun. Deeper and deeper he went into the woods bounding through bushes that seem to reach out and grab at his clothes. Eventually he lost all sight of the path, completely focused on the rabbit ahead. He began to tire and had to stop and bend over, holding his knees to try and catch his breath. Once he had caught his breath he searched the undergrowth for any signs of the rabbit; a tuft of its tail or the tips of white ears. He saw nothing.

Turning around to head back to the long forgotten battle and enemy soldiers, he realized that he did not know which way to go; he could see no traces of the path that his mother had plainly told him to stay on. He didn't panic. He was almost a man, as his father liked to say, and men did not panic, they did not cry, they figured out what needed to be done and they did it. He looked and saw bushes with branches that were broken and bent towards him and grass that had been smashed down by heavy feet. He thought, _"This is where I ran from. I'll go that way."_ He followed his makeshift trail for some time until the bushes thin and grass turned to dirt, he could no longer see any broken branches that he might have pushed through. He chewed his bottom lip wondering if it would be wise to continue straight. Could he perhaps have turned at some point and did not remember?

Standing there deep in thought, he did not hear the first twig break or the rustle of leaves. The second time it happened he did hear but only because it was much closer and therefore also much louder. Without thinking about how he was not actually holding a gun but just a plain stick he turned abruptly around and pointed his stick gun at the person who had snuck up on him.

It was just a boy! A boy with a curly mass of brown hair, slanted grey eyes, and sharp cheek bones, sitting in a very thin tree on a very thin branch starring down at him with ethereal eyes. The boy looked even younger than him and probably should not be climbing up such tall trees. He looked down and narrowed his eyes slightly and asked, "What do you think that stick will do, John?"

John's blue eyes widened in surprise, "How do you know my name?" John kept the stick pointed up and towards this strange kid, just in case.

"I am Sherlock." He said, easily climbing his way down, landing lightly on his feet and twirling around to face John. Twigs and leaves stuck out haphazardly in Sherlock's hair, his purple shirt was tattered and extremely dirty, his feet bare except for the large amount of mud that was caked on the sides and in between his toes. "I do hate to repeat myself but since you have not answered, and I believe it is due to you being shocked that I knew your name, I will assume you did not hear me properly. So I ask again, what do you think that stick will do, John?"

John glared at him, "And I ask again, how do you know my name?"

Sherlock sighed in true frustration, "I know a lot of things."

"You don't talk like other kids."

"Well I am not like other kids."

John looked Sherlock up and down, "How old are you anyway?"

Sherlock crossed his arms and stood straight, "I am five! Thank you very much."

John looked away, lowered his stick and tossed it to the ground, "Nothing. I didn't think it would do anything."

Sherlock is surprised that John actually answered his question; most people would still be demanding how he knew them and why he was watching them in the first place. John looked towards Sherlock and asked, "So what do you know about me, then? Since you _know_ so much."

Sherlock took a breath, knowing that after this John would probably punch him and run off. Best to do it now so he will be left in peace (was it peace?) again. "I know that you are John Watson (who just turned seven) and that you live in the little cottage just west of town. I know that your father was in the war but is disgraced since he ran away during a very bloody battle. Your mother hates him for shaming your family, subjecting all of you to the torments from the townspeople and you all now live in poverty. The only way any bills are being paid is that she is sleeping with the landlord, the baker, and the butcher. Your father knows this and doesn't care. You and your sister get along pretty well for siblings that are close in age but of the opposite gender. You, John, want to become a soldier yourself so you can lift the shame off your family and provide a better life for them as well. You are kind to all animals and people, even the ones in town who spit at you and THEY don't deserve your kindness." He stopped then, closing his eyes, waiting for the blows to come.

"That was amazing!"

Sherlock's eyes shot open, unbelieving. He just revealed things that John didn't even know and probably didn't want to know. But he had not punched Sherlock; he had said it was amazing.

John stuck out his left hand towards Sherlock, "Do you want to be friends?"

Sherlock started at that question. No one had ever wanted to be his friend. He slid his left hand into John's and wrapped his fingers around the warmth radiating off of John's skin.

Smiling brightly John tugs Sherlock closer. "Okay brainy, how do we get back to the path. I hate to say this but I'm lost."

Sherlock smiled brightly back at John, "That is easy, my dear Watson. Follow me. But it could be dangerous." His eyes showed a flash of mischief. He tugged John through a set of trees, both laughing loudly enough to scare all the woodland creatures in the process.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2:**

Fortunately or unfortunately however you look at it, unfortunately in Sherlock's case, they hadn't actually encountered any danger on the way back. They had talked comfortably, with Sherlock telling John about the animal prints that he saw, which direction it was most likely going and whether it was male or female and occasionally stopping so that he could inspect a rather interesting leaf or bug, telling John all that he could deduce about the object; all the while John praising him with, "brilliant" or "amazing" and asking questions, wanting to know the answers. John at some point started helping Sherlock find things to stuff in his pockets so he could take them home and examine them further.

"So what do you do with all these things once you get them home?" John had asked with curiosity ringing in his voice.

Sherlock lifted a rotting acorn to his nose and sniffed it, "Sometimes I do experiments with them. But I also keep them in different collections." He started to bring the acorn to his mouth, sticking out his tiny tongue to lick it. John smacked his hand away, the acorn flying to the ground.

"Don't do that! It could make you sick!"

"Really John that wasn't necessary. It wouldn't have caused me any harm. How am I supposed to know what an acorn at the early stages of decay tastes like?"

"Why would you even need to know that?!" John shouted in exasperation.

Sherlock glared at John and bent over to pick up the acorn then stuffed it into his pocket, stomping off. "Don't be an idiot John" he called b

John rolled his eyes and took off after him.

Once they reached the trail and were in sight of John's home, Sherlock stopped in his tracks and pushed his hands into his pockets, touching each of the objects with his fingertips. John halted as well, looking over at Sherlock, "Would you like to come up? I'm sure my mom has got something on."

"No, I do not think that is wise." Sherlock said to the tree to his right, refusing to look at John.

"Oh, well, would you like to meet again? I'm not sure if I could find that tree you were in but there has to be somewhere. Maybe in town?" John was trying his best not to sound eager. Most kids from town wouldn't even speak to him anymore and the ones that did, either it was in secret or in spite.

Once again John had surprised Sherlock. He had thought that John would not want to spend time with him again, believing John had been kind just so that he would have help finding his way back. Sherlock turned his head towards John but spoke to his feet, "There is an abandoned cottage in the woods. We could meet there."

John's face lit up at this, blue eyes shining. "Yes I know where that is. I used to play there with the other kids, until, well….you know."

Sherlock didn't feel the need to respond to that, since he did in fact know. He just nodded and whirled abruptly around, stalking off back where they had come from.

"Hey! Wait! You never said when you wanted to meet!" John called after him.

Sherlock stopped, looked over his shoulder at John, "In two days at noon" and then walked on.

"Okay! See you then." John said back, then turned and ran up towards his house, the chimney piping smoke. John was correct; his mother did have something on.

Much later Sherlock stood behind a tree that was much larger than him peering around to stare at the twelve foot stone wall, waiting for the guard to make his rounds. He knew that the man should be passing this particular section of wall any minute, and then Sherlock would have five minutes before the second guard came. So he waited, drumming his fingers against the bark. It had not been easy getting back but he had been in such a hurry; helping John find his way had taken longer than he had allotted himself time for. And now he was going to be late. Sherlock was not supposed to be in the forest and was most definitely not supposed to be late for supper. As long as he wasn't late no one would question what he had done with himself during the day, they were just glad that he was out of the way.

He abhorred waiting but here he was. Waiting for the insufferable guard to come by; luckily for him this guard whistles so he hears him first before actually seeing him. He ducks behind the tree listening as the tune gets closer, then right next to the part of the wall that Sherlock needs to climb over, then slowly fading away. Peering around the side of his tree, he could still hear the tune, but the guard was no longer in sight, he dashed towards the wall, reaching to feel for a specific stone. Usually he could tell it just from looking but the sun was setting and this particular area was covered in shade, making it much harder for him to locate the first in a set of ten stones. His small fingers were perfect for finding it though, the barely visible indentation between the top of one stone and the bottom of another, just enough room to fit his fingers and then, once pushed off the ground, his toes.

He had spent a lot of time chipping away at these stones so that they were just right. He had always found ways to escape the grounds; it was getting back in that was the difficult part, until he discovered this section of wall. Situated all the way in the back, not only was it closer to the forest, but wasn't maintained as well as the front so the stones were easy to chip at with small rocks, the mortar coming away easily but not crumbling. It also had a giant vine that scaled the inside of the wall, extremely easy to climb up and down, making it a perfect spot for him to get in and out of. It takes him about 60 seconds to be up, over and down. In his haste to get over the wall, he failed to notice a figure standing at the base. As his feet hit the ground and his hands went up to brush themselves off on the front of his grass-stained purple shirt, he saw the glint off a pair of black, recently polished, leather shoes. The smile that had been playing on his lips with the rush of adrenaline that he got from climbing the wall quickly dissipated. He finished brushing his hands off and turned away, walking towards the back door of the kitchen.

"It's best if you not go that way, Sherlock."

"And why not, _Mycroft_?" Sherlock said, turning towards his brother and crossing his arms.

Mycroft's perfectly manicured finger pointed at Sherlock's side, "Cookie may not observe how thoroughly disgusting you are when you come back from your little _escapades_but she will most undoubtedly notice that rather large cut."

Sherlock looked at himself for the first time since he got dressed this morning. He knew he came back dirty but never noticeably injured. He hadn't even felt it happen, actually he did remember now, looking down at it. He had been running full speed hoping to make it back before the sun set. John had warned him to look out for the bramble that sprung up in some of the bushes, but on his way back all thoughts about such things were lost. He had pushed through a rather large bush and gotten caught for a minute or so, his shirt had torn wide and he had a felt a sharp stinging but had pushed on regardless then, forgetting until Mycroft pointed it out.

It had already started to heal and now the blood was drying on his skin, mixing with the mud making an interesting pattern along his pale skin. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to do anything about it, he'd like to wear it for all times, showing others the proof that on one very ordinary day he had met a not so ordinary little soldier.

"You should get yourself cleaned up before entering the house or you might not get to see your _friend_again."

Sherlock pursed his lips and placed his hands on his hips, "I don't have friends."

Straightening up and with his hands behind his back, Mycroft stood to all the height the thirteen year old boy had. He raised his eyebrow at Sherlock, "Hmmm."

Sherlock stared back refusing to continue this conversation. _"How had he found out so fast?"_Sherlock thought to himself. He had only met John this afternoon and he wasn't quite sure they were _friends_. He resented that Mycroft was seven years his senior. Seven more years to observe means seven years of knowledge that Sherlock didn't have and he hated thinking Mycroft might be more clever.

"I see you've gotten into the cakes again."

Mycroft sighed and looked to the sky, "Come this way, Sherlock. We will get you fixed up and off to dinner before Mummy and Father start to wonder where you are." He walked towards the far right corner of the grounds that was still bathed in sunlight, with Sherlock following behind him. Sherlock watched as Mycroft took off his suit jacket and hung it on the post that stood next to the water pump. As Mycroft unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his shirt sleeves, he looked over at Sherlock, who was starting to shiver. The sun was starting to set quickly, the heat of the day going along with it. Mycroft had always thought that Sherlock was too thin for his age and it made the winters much tougher for him than others but as always Sherlock didn't listen and went days without eating before someone finally forced him to. Now his thin body was feeling the cold night air creeping in and wasn't handling it well. "Best to do this as quickly as possible before you catch your death." Mycroft said and grabbed the handle of the old water pump and began to prime it.

"I am FINE." Sherlock said defiantly, but then added quickly, "But, do hurry up."

Mycroft picked up the pace. Finally the water came up splashing out of the spigot. Mycroft pointed at the spot right in front of the water pump, "Stand there Sherlock and we will get some of that mud off your feet."

Sherlock moved to stick his feet under the water but he quickly jumped back, "It's too cold!"

"Well what do you expect me to do about it?" There were beads of sweat on Mycroft's forehead, even with the cool air coming in; he wasn't dressed for manual labor. "Just get in the water! I want this over with just as much as you do!"

Sherlock stuck one big toe into the water but refused to get closer.

Mycroft was just about to shout something undignified when they both heard a loud shout ringing out towards them. They both turned to look at who the voice originated from. Mycroft stopped pumping the water and ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, making it stick up straight. He whispered to Sherlock, "Well there is no hope now."

"At least I don't have to stand in that ice water any longer."

"What on Earth are you boys doing?!" Mrs. Hudson shouted at them as she jogged toward them, holding up her large brown skirt, auburn hair piled high on her head starting to fall, tendrils brushing along her cheeks. Mrs. Hudson had been with the family since before Mycroft was born. She was the house keeper but had taken on nanny duties once Sherlock was born, even as a baby Sherlock had been a handful and Mycroft's nanny had quit after Sherlock had dumped sheep's blood on her bed; to this day they still didn't know why he did it and he can't be bothered to remember anymore. So, Mrs. Hudson had taken over, she was the only one that he seemed to listened to, not all the time, mind you, but most of it. Dropping her skirt and looking at the boys, then doing a double take at Sherlock's appearance, she narrowed her eyes at him, "hmmm, I see." Mrs. Hudson reached out her hand to pat Mycroft on the shoulder and then smooth his hair back down, "That was kind of you to try and get him cleaned up Mycroft, but it is far too cold out here for that. Come Sherlock I will get you cleaned up inside and then we can talk."

Mycroft looked at him and mouthed "Sorry", Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't hide much from Mrs. Hudson; she had this nasty habit of making him feel guilty about lying to her. He would face whatever was to come. He followed her up to the door at the side of the house; she stopped and turned around to face him. "I'm going to carry you. I will not have those things making a mess of my nice clean wood floor." She pointed down at his feet, "but first we need to shake out that hair of yours. Lean forward, please." He bent over and she ran her fingers through his curls that were matted in places, shaking loose dirt, leaves and a few bugs that ran off as soon as they hit the ground. She patted his head lightly signaling that she was through and he turned to face her, holding up his arms. She bent down, scooped him up and shifted him so that he came to sit on her hip. Her body was warm from being in the house all day and feeling it made him acutely aware of how cold he really was. He wrapped his thin arms and legs around her and laid his cheek on her shoulder, and even though she grumbled at him for being so dirty, she squeezed him closer and rubbed circles into his back.

Carrying him in to the house, Mrs. Hudson called out, "Molly! Get the bath ready for Sherlock, will you?"

A small voice came back from around the corner, "Yes, Mrs. Hudson."

A young woman with mousy brown hair tied up in a loose bun came bustling around the corner and then hastened up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Mrs. Hudson followed shortly after, unable to go as fast as Molly with the load she was carrying. Sherlock just snuggled closer to her, closing his eyes feeling the day grow long in his mind, wearing him down, a bath sounded heavenly to him. They had taken the back stairs so he didn't worry about being seen by Mummy or Father but he did start to worry what Mrs. Hudson would say to them. He felt her ascend the last step and turn towards his washroom, the door creaked opened and he could feel the steam already filling up the room, could hear the splashing of water as Molly filled up the tub, heard her humming as she poured in the soap, the floral scent drifting up his nostrils. But, Mrs. Hudson didn't stop she kept going and he opened his eyes to see as she pushed open his dressing room door, his bedroom door across from them was still open so he could see part of his grey duvet and feel the colder air coming in, steam was sneaking in through the washroom door, he pictured them as two opposing forces ready to do battle right in the middle of his dressing room. He quickly wiggled in Mrs. Hudson arms, shocking her into dumping him on the floor, "What in the world?!" she exclaimed but he landed on his feet and ran towards the bedroom door slamming it shut, he already felt like he had been in a battle and didn't want to deal with another. She gave him a questioning look but when he didn't answer she ignored the outburst. She walked over to him and patted his cheek, "Okay, now you undress and I will be in the other room, when you are done let me know and then you get right in the bath. Understand?"

He nodded at her and waited till she exited the dressing room. He took off his ruined shirt, throwing it on the floor; there was no use in putting it in the hamper, it was beyond repair. Before he removed his trousers he stuck his left hand in his pocket to get the items he had collected from his day in the woods, but it was empty. He pushed his hand further in until three of his fingers were sticking out the bottom of a hole in his pocket. He had lost all the sticks and leaves that were in there, he stomped his foot in anger. There had been some really interesting leaves he had found and one particular dead bug that he really wanted to pin to his wall. Panic hit him as he shoved his right hand into the other one, feeling around desperately for the one item he most certainly did not want to lose. There at the bottom, pushed tightly in the corner, was the acorn. He pulled it out quickly, spilling the rest of the contents on the floor, not caring about them as he looked at the acorn. Such a small thing with no real meaning to anyone else that would see it; probably throw it out if they did. He twirled it around in his hand, remembering John, with his blue eyes shining at him, the tips of his blonde hair shifting with the wind, a friendly smile on his face. Sherlock had never had a friend before and still wasn't sure if that is what he would call John, they had only just met today, but John had wanted to spend more time with him and Sherlock was finding he liked the idea of spending time with John as well. He curled the acorn into his fist and went to his bedroom door. He twisted the knob and slowly opened the door not wanting Mrs. Hudson or Molly to hear him and crept silently to his bed. He lifted up his pillow and placed the acorn gingerly underneath, wanting to keep it close, so he could look at it and remember how a boy that he had just met cared enough to stop him from eating it. Sherlock smiled thinking about how absurd that was and went back to the dressing room.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock been in the tub for approximately 15 minutes, judging by the water temperature and the wrinkles in his fingers and toes, when he heard a rapid but soft knock on the bathroom door. It was Mrs. Hudson coming to wash out his hair. He sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees. He was glad she was here the water was starting to cool off. After the initial sting of the warm water on his cold skin and then a burning as the water covered the cut on his side, he had become relaxed. Watching his skin water log and used his hands to swirl the soap clouds turning the water milky. He was bored now and wanted to get out.

"How are we doing, dear?" Mrs. Hudson ask as she picked up the comb and pitcher from the little cupboard and placed them on the small, porcelain topped table that sat next to the claw footed tub, she then pulled out a three legged wooden stool and set it down behind Sherlock and the tub. She sat down next to him still smiling. He didn't look at her.

"Oh! Not going to talk? Having a lil' pout are we?" She dipped the pitcher into the tub and brought it up towards his head, Sherlock leaned it back allowing her to wet his hair thoroughly, she then ran her fingers through his curls trying to get the mud out and loosen the tangles. He still wouldn't respond, he was waiting for her to tell him that she was going to talk to his parents about what he had been up to and then he'd be under guard and wouldn't be able to go see John.

"Don't think I don't know where you were today! And, that I didn't see that nasty cut across your ribs." She scolded him.

He frowned and she poured another pitcher on his hair. "I should go straight to your parents and tell them."

His head still turned up he opened his eyes at her, tears brimming the edges. She reached up and stroked his hair which was finally loosening. "Oh Sherlock, I'm not going to do that. I see how it makes you happy to play out in the woods."

"I do not play." He says sternly

"This is not the time for that tone young man."

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson."

"Right then." She goes to grab the comb and taps her lower lip thinking. "After we've finished, I will bandage you up. That cut doesn't look very deep so a little salve ought to take care of it."

Sherlock nods and straightens up and Mrs. Hudson starts combing out the knots from his dark hair. "I'm not going to tell your parents about today. I should, but I won't. I really just wish you'd be more careful. I would be much more comfortable if you had someone out there with you. Maybe Mycroft could go?"

He shudders and shakes his head, "No."

"Well we must find you someone, if not, then I will ask Molly to go with you."

Sherlock brain whirls frantically, he did not want Molly to go with him. She was far too timid and would not find climbing trees and collecting bugs much fun. "JOHN!" he says loudly, making Mrs. Hudson drop the comb and it clatters on the tile floor.

"Who dear?" She ask while picking the comb up.

"He is….uh….my…friend." He looks out the corner of his eye trying to see her face from behind him.

"You have a friend?!" She sounds shocked, "Who is he?"

"A boy from town. He is nice, he is why I was late. I won't be late again, I promise."

"That's wonderful Sherlock. If you really do have this friend then I do not see the problem with you going to play with him."

Sherlock growled but chose not to correct her this time since he was getting what he wanted, no Molly and no Mycroft.

Mrs. Hudson pulled the comb through his hair one last time, sighing, "You got very lucky tonight. Your parents are over at the Donovan's for the evening."

Sherlock kept his face neutral but inside was smiling, he did not want to deal with his parents this evening and their questions.

Mrs. Hudson stood up to leave him to get dressed, "I will see you in your room for in a few minutes to but a bandage on. Then we'll have some food sent up to you." She headed towards the door.

"Yes….and…thank you Mrs. Hudson."

She stopped before opening and turned to give him one last smile before leaving.

Later in the evening after it had grown very dark and very cold, the wind howling against the window, Sherlock sat crossed legged in his red arm chair next to the fire. Mrs. Hudson had already been in to cover his wound and she had had Molly bring him a tray of food. He had already eaten half of the roast beef sandwich and was just finishing off the chocolate biscuits. He reached over to the table next to him where the tray sat and grabbed the glass of milk, he drank half before putting it back down. Once done he sprang from his chair and ran over the pull robe next to his door, he pulled it three times and then began to pace the little space in front of the hearth with his arms behind his back. A few minutes later he heard a soft knocking on his door it was Molly, obviously, "enter" he said to her. Molly peeked around the door then crept quietly into the room. He turned to look at her, his eyes gleaming, she hid a small smile behind her fingers trying to hold off a giggle.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, "Did you bring me what I asked? The book! Did you bring the book?"

She snapped out of her thoughts, bringing the book up to her chest almost dropping it, "Oh, yes. I did. I'm sorry. I just…well you…um…you have." She drew a line across her upper lip.

"What?" He looked at her in confusion.

"You…have…um…you have a milk on your lip." She giggled softly, looking away.

Sherlock quickly wiped his mouth on his pajama sleeve. He looked back up at her, "Did I get it?"

She nodded at him, "Yes."

"Now give me the book." He held out his arms and she walked over and handed it to him. "Excellent." He said eyes shining bright once he had it open, it was much too large for him to hold himself while standing up.  
"Would you like me to stay and help?" Molly asked eagerly. Sherlock slammed the book shut and looked her in the eyes with a dour expression. Molly hadn't been working for the family very long but already showed promise for being loyal and exceptionally quiet. The quiet part was the only reason he tolerated her more than the rest of the house hold staff, Mrs. Hudson excluded of course. But he most certainly did not want her to hang about and talk to him.

He turned his back to her, opening the book back up. "You can take the tray now, Molly."

He looked over the first page while listening to her sigh then pick up the tray and leave. As soon as he heard the door click shut he went over to his bed. He put the book up on top of the wooden side table and reached under his pillow, searching for John's acorn, as he had come to call it in his mind. Once found he climbed up on to the bed and kicked the grey duvet down with his feet, the smooth satin sheets were cool even through his flannel pants, and he tucked his toes under the duvet to keep them warm. He reached over and dragged the large book to sit on his legs. He reclined back on to his downy pillows and brought up his knees to settle the book in his lap. He held John's acorn in his tiny fingers and looked over the page in front of him studying the drawings of trees, their leaves and their seeds. He needed to know what tree this acorn came from, he had already deduced that it was Oak but not the species. He found what he was looking for towards the middle of the book a Pedunculate Oak (Quercus robur) the English Oak, "_seems fitting." _ He tossed the book on the floor with a thud that sounded out of place in his quiet room. He curled on to his side, the fire warming up his back and slowly the rest of his body, he brought the acorn close to his face to study it further. The cupule and stalk were missing _"possibly still on the branch" _and something had been chewing at the top, "a _squirrel nibbling at it". _Sherlock thought to himself, "_The squirrel realized that the inside had been eaten away, tossed it and was on to search for a more satisfying meal_." He inspected the inside and outside, a tiny hole looked to have be drilled into the outer wall, "_A_ _Weevil larvae, most likely but will have to look it up to be sure,_" he yawned and closed his hand around John's acorn and wrapped his other hand around that one, tucking them both under his cheek and closed his eyes while thinking, "_I must tell John all that I discover._"


End file.
